


Pieces of Her

by RoadWild



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoadWild/pseuds/RoadWild
Summary: Geralt can't stop seeing her wherever he goes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri | Shrike, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Pieces of Her

No matter what he did, Geralt couldn’t stop seeing her wherever he went.

The first time she reappeared was when a barmaid was pouring him a drink. There was moment of perfect stillness where her hair brushed just right, and her clothes creased, and he reflexively let out a shout. He got kicked out of the bar but Geralt knew what he saw. Renfri was there, just for a split second, before time resumed and she disappeared. He shook his head and set off for another bar that would have him, but he remained deeply unsettled. Throughout the rest of the night he was constantly checking over his shoulder, even though he knew that she was dead. He buried the blade in her neck himself and held her dead body. Still, he started to arm traps around his campsite and doublecheck his cot each night before he slept. 

Geralt reassured himself it was only a precaution. Renfri was truly gone, and it was only a little extra protection just in case someone snuck up on him. 

He refused to name who he was preparing the traps for, though.

The next time Geralt saw Renfri was when he was with another woman. He was thrusting inside of her, both of her wrists pinned on the headboard when a few stray strands of hair fell down on her face. Geralt moved his free hand from where it was playing with her breasts to tuck the hair away, but his hand froze when it reached her nose.

The crook of her nose with the strand of dark hair across it sent his thoughts back to when he had tucked away the same strand of hair over an identical nose. Automatically, Geralt’s body leaned back into Renfri, crushing her into the mattress and thrusting harder and harder while his hand grinded her wrists into the wooden headboard. 

Renfri squealed at the sudden change in pace-and her voice was wrong. It was higher pitched and Renfri didn’t even so much as squeak when they had-Geralt looked down into the eyes of a sudden stranger and reflexively released her wrists. The prostitute looked down and sighed, complaining, “Here I was thinking that we had gotten to the fun part. Didn’t realise you finished already.”

Geralt pulled out of her and rolled back onto the mattress, breathing heavily and still shocked. The prostitute got up, picked up the pouch of money left on the bedside table, and left the room. Geralt continued to lie on the bed, still processing what had just happened. When he realised, or felt, rather, he was still hard, he let out a loud curse.

He’d seen her other times, too. In the sweep of a shop keep’s hair at the market, an enemy mage’s eyes in the midst of battle. That last one had given him a new scar for people to gawk at. Yet always, the illusion would be shattered. Renfri’s hair was never that long, nor was her eyes quite that small. Geralt grew more and more distrusting, almost completely distancing himself from women if only so he wouldn’t see her again.

Yet, there was one woman who broke past his guard. One woman who slipped past his defences as if they never existed and held his heart in her hands. When Geralt realised what had happened, he braced himself. He had let Renfri into his heart, and she tore everything apart. Yennefer would do the same.

Geralt pushed her away. He refused to even think of her after the Djinn and pushed her away at the mountain. He did his best to keep his distance, isolate his feelings, but he couldn’t deny the truth, even to himself. She had him, and that whipped up a fury within him that Geralt had never felt before. A fury that clashed with how strongly Geralt was attracted to her, how much he wanted to be with her.

Yet, with all things time tempered his passion. Tempered his anger, too. What wonders unjust imprisonment could bestow. When Cirilla asked him “Who is Yennefer?”, Geralt could look her in the eyes, smirk, and say, “Someone that could’ve been your mother.”


End file.
